A Strange Meeting
by Ciel-the-Writer
Summary: It's Valentine's Day for Teen!Sherlock and Teen!Watson.


February 13th- the day before the most horrid day of the year- Valentine's Day. Sherlock loathed the day. He would always get a dozen love letters bunched into his locker, all the same cliche, crappy and boring words in it. He always looked through them though despite how much he absolutely loathed the holiday. He would toss the cards in the trash every year in the hopes that he wouldn't get any the next year. However he knew it would only get more and more crammed with letters as the years went on. It was his last year in high school, thankfully, and next year, he was glad he wouldn't have to deal with basic white girls confessing their love to him and a locker filled with lilac scented cards every Valentine's Day. It was just one more year of this and that's it. He could beat it one last time before graduating, couldn't he?

It was the last period of the school day. It was one period people didn't usually have classes in, so there were people milling about the halls and talking to their friends. Sherlock stayed in the library to hide out from anybody who could've possibly wanted to ask him out. He figured he would stay in the Library until he was certain that most of the students had left the school grounds and went home.

He didn't mind doing this of course, him being the patient person he is. Sherlock was often extra patient in places like these, where he would have every and all kinds of literature in his reach to keep him entertained and busy. He gets so lost into crime books that he solves them before finishing the book, and sometimes forgets to be quiet when talking to himself about it.

"Ha! I knew it!"

He said about too loudly as he finally read the point in which they revealed the culprit. A group of studying nerds like himself sitting at a nearby table has put their index fingers to their mouths and shushed the male, making Sherlock apologize in an awkward whisper before looking back to the book in his hands. Little did he know, he was being watched by someone through the bookshelves of the quiet library. He might not have noticed, being so enthralled in the story, but the mystery figure standing there watching him smiled at the male acting so happy. It was the first time that Sherlock showed any trace of emotion in weeks.

This was a good sign.

After the final bell rung, students rushed to get out of school, often times pushing and shoving each other in a hurry to exit. They turned it into some kind of competition, as if it mattered who got out of the building the fastest. Sherlock didn't bother with such matters, and often took his time, being the last person to exit the building and leave the school grounds. Especially today he took his sweet time, considering he didn't want to run into any girls that may have wanted to get in his pants. He shivered at the thought as he ran a hand through his curly brown locks, walking down the now empty hallway to his locker. He mentally prepared himself for the shitload of letters that would be in his locker this afternoon, especially those of special requests to see the male at certain times of the day tomorrow. Most of them he couldn't attend any even if he wanted to because of his tight schedule. Sure, he was flattered, but seeing all that junk in there and nothing interesting was all too much for the male. When he opened his locker, he saw a pile of cards that had gathered over the course of the day at the very bottom of his locker. Part of him wondered how in the world these girls were able to get the slips of paper inside without clear evidence of breaking in. This was one of the things that not even Sherlock Holmes, the crime and mystery book nerd, could figure out. He sat down in front of the locker and began to pick and sort through them, putting them into separate piles: desperate, slutty, and desperately slutty. He deduced what was inside each of the letters and who had sent them by just looking at the outside of it. He never had to open any envelopes or read any of the cheesy words. All he needed was a whiff of the perfume, the fingerprints, and the signature. After he had finish going through them all, one last letter sat at the bottom of his locker. All the rest of the letters were shades of pink and red, but this one...it looked like parchment. An older kind of paper with a wax seal on it. It was entirely different than anything he had ever been given, and it intrigued him. When he gave it a whiff, he smelled something- not so much womanly, but something a bust muskier. Perhaps it could be described as masculine, but he couldn't tell. It reminded him of something...something in his past. After examining and admiring the craftsmanship of the wax seal, he turned the envelope over, revealing his first name written in the most beautiful cursive. It was written with an authentic feather pen by the looks of it- like a real letter from the late 1800's.

This was the only Valentine's Day note that had ever caught his eye. He found it intriguing and mysterious, and didn't hesitate to admire every single detail.

Carefully he opened the envelope, doing his best not to break the wax seal more than he had to. He flipped it over and slowly took out the folded piece of paper that looked to be made out of the same kind of paper as the envelope. Sherlock's heart pounded as he unfolded the trifold paper and began to read it to himself in the empty hallway.

Sherlock Holmes,

This is a message from someone you once knew a long time ago. I would be honoured if you would meet me in the garden at precisely 4 o'clock tomorrow after school. I'll be waiting.

Signed, Your Secret Admirer.

The message was written in the same beautiful handwriting as his name on the envelope. So much work was put into this simple message. Already he was excited about it, and definitely planned to see whom had sent him such an elaborate yet simple message to grab his attention.

After that, Valentine's Day couldn't come soon enough.

It was 3:50pm. He had only ten minutes to get himself across campus and at the garden by 4 exactly. His class was kept late, which prevented him from preparing himself for this special meeting. It made it worse how girls flocked to him while he was trying to get somewhere. It was obvious he wasn't interested, so why were they flinging themselves at him? It just wasn't logical in the slightest. He took no interest in dumb, desperate females.

Finally after pushing through crowds of girls, he reached the garden at precisely 4. Sherlock put his hands on his knees and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath before looking up and around at his surroundings. It only took him a moment to find the figure he had assumed was his "secret admirer". He was surprised to see nobody else around, as the garden did look rather pretty this time of year.

Sherlock stepped closer to the figure wearing a large coat and hat, and finding the same familiar scent hit his nostrils. This was the person he was looking for. Before he could grab the person's attention, they turned around with their head down, and slowly looked up at the taller male.

Sherlock was at a loss of words.

"Hey, Sherlock."

John said.

"Hey Sherlock! Let's play over here!"

"Okay! Can we be detectives again today?"

A small, young Sherlock looked over at his best friend, John.

"Sure!"

The other said happily.

"Yay!"

Sherlock took the other boy's hand, giving him a smile. John giggled in reply- the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"Hey Sherlock..?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you so distant?"

It took the boy a moment to really think about the question he was just asked. Truly he had never thought about why he was like this, but just knew that he was. He never thought it mattered.

"I'm too scared of losing you."

He said in a small voice, tears beginning to form in his eyes. John hugged Sherlock and buried his face into his shoulder.

"You won't lose me. I promise."

"Hey...Sherlock..?"

"Yes, John?"

"I...have to tell you something..."

"Well don't make me wait all day- spill it."

A young teenage John twitted his thumbs and looked towards his best friend with eyes filled with sympathy and sorrow.

"I'm moving."

Sherlock's eyes widened instantly. His heart had felt like it was broken in two. It finally dawned on him that he was about to lose his best friend.

"You...you promised, John- you promised I'd never lose you..!"

He practically shouted, tears gathering in his eyes and slowly dribbling down his cheeks. Before John could say anything, Sherlock had run out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

That was the last time they had ever spoken.

Sherlock went through these flashbacks in a matter of seconds. It was like he was seeing all of them for the first time. Somehow he remembered the best friend he had lost all those years ago- the one and only friend he had. Also the one and only person he had ever had feelings for.

"John..."

He choked out, trying to hold back a sob. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared into his long lost best friend's eyes, relishing in the eye candy that was John Watson. Sherlock's hands went up to cup the smaller's cheeks, softly rubbing them as he allowed himself to step a bit closer. John placed his hands on Sherlock's and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

"Yes, it's me..."

"Where have you been?"

Sherlock asked, his voice soft and filled with curiosity. John looked up and smiled at the male he'd come to love in a matter of ten years.

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

These were the words he had hoped to hear years ago. Even though he was just hearing them now, he instantly forgave the male for leaving him. They were together, despite it being the strangest meeting he'd ever had.

Their foreheads touched, and their lips inched closer and closer in a matter of seconds.

"I love you, John Watson."

Sherlock whispered.

"And I you, Sherlock Holmes."

John whispered back just before their lips connected in a sweet, long awaited kiss.


End file.
